


Some People Trust

by OceanAndSpace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Massage, Not Beta Read, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanAndSpace/pseuds/OceanAndSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Peter needs help caring for his scars and he trusts few people with his body.<br/><i>(can be read as gen or pre-slash)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Some People Trust

"Stiles."

"OH MY GOD!" Stiles jumped, probably high enough that he should be embarrassed, and spinned on his feet. And yes, here was Peter Hale, standing in front of his window, looking as casual as if he'd entered through the front door instead of scaling the wall like some creepy alien creature thing. "What the fuck is it with you werewolves and doors? Knocking is a thing, an actual real life thing, not just sneaking behind heart-attack-prone-humans and scaring ten years out of their bodies. Jesus."

Stiles sank back into his desk chair, trying to calm down his out of control heartbeat.

There was a long moment of silence, which was making all the hair rise at the back of his head. Peter Hale was very, very rarely without a good retort.

"Uh. Well, what's up, creeperwolf?"

Peter finally looked up from where he'd been staring at something near Stiles' bed -not that there was a lot of mess to look at, not at all- and focus his rather intimidating attention on Stiles.

The room suddenly felt way too small, those eyes weighed heavily on Stiles. It wasn't much of a stretch to realize that whatever Peter wanted, it would require an honest answer and/or effort from Stiles.

Peter moved forward one step into the room, standing in the middle, half turned toward Stiles. "I am... in need of your... help."

He didn't sound like the words had been pulled out of his mouth, like Stiles would have imagined this moment, in another life. Rather, it almost sounded... vulnerable. With an undercurrent of 'if you even dream of laughing at my face, I'll rip out your throat.' On the other hand, weirdly enough, Stiles almost felt as if he could actually refuse to assist him and he'd simply turn around.

This, more than anything, told Stiles how important this moment was.

"What do you need?" 'Why me', he didn't ask. After all, who else was there?

Peter pursed his lips, then bared his teeth for a second. If he'd been less in control of his body, he'd probably would have snarled.

"This."

He plunk down something of the desk. Stiles leaned forward, feeling suddenly insanely curious.

It was a jar. A small glass bottle, with Vitamin E written in large letter at the top, and a bit lower, 'scar serum'. Stiles didn't point it out. He didn't ask if it was because of the fire. He didn't ask why he needed it now. He didn't ask why his werewolf healing hadn't taken care of it all. Not immediately.

"There are places that you can't reach?"

Peter sighed slowly, his body losing some of his unnatural rigidness.

"My back. All over."

"All right. I'm going to grab some towels."

Peter nodded and shrugged off his jacket. Stiles left the room slowly. There was a wary wolf in his bedroom, he didn't need to arouse his predator/prey instincts anymore. That was the kind of thought he was used to, nowadays.

*

By the time he came back, the werewolf was sitting on his bed, wearing only underwear. Stiles would have been shocked, if he hadn't been distracted by the horrible sight of the man's body. He realized that he hadn't seen the male shirtless since he'd come back from the dead like some cliché Lazarus. At most, he'd worn V neck sweaters and rolled up sleeves. That'd been the most skin he'd shown.

"How..." He hesitated, stuttered, stuck in the entrance of the room. Stiles took a deep breath. Peter was staring at him, daring him to ask. He did. "I thought you'd gotten rid of the scars, with the Alpha power infusion, that night, in the hospital."

Peter clenched his hands. "I did. The visible one and most of the hidden ones. Then you set me on fire."

Stiles flinched, hard enough that he knocked himself in the door frame. He didn't apologize.

"I read somewhere that vitamin E might be good to smooth out scars, but the studies are contradictory or sometimes show little results."

"I know. The nurses used to massage some on my skin, when they had the time."

Stiles bit his lip. "Massage, uh. I guess the oil needs to penetrate the skin."

"Yes."

There was another moment of silence. This time, it didn't feel like Peter was daring. It felt like he was asking if Stiles felt up to the task. That Stiles only had to say the word, and he'd put his clothes back on and they wouldn't mention it anytime again.

He didn't ask why the wolf's healing wasn't taking care of the scars again. If the Alpha power hadn't been able to rid his body of them entirely the first time... And Peter had had to confess recently to the pack, under duress, that his strength hadn't returned completely yet. Even though it'd been weeks since the resurrection.

"All right. Lie down on your front?"

The man moved slowly, smoothing the towels until no creases remained. Stiles didn't comment. There was a predator about to show him his back and vulnerable neck. He knew what that meant. He knew what that meant, that Peter even _asked him_.

The oil was faintly warm, as if Peter had heated it before coming. Stiles set it into the bowl of scalding water that he'd brought back with him.

He didn't have any experience in massaging. He wished he'd had time to look it up. He caught himself thinking that he'd be ready for the next time.

He wondered if Peter would come back another time.

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"I know. Just... spread the oil and make sure it penetrates the skin. Especially in the... worst places."

Stiles nodded, then realized that Peter wasn't looking at him. "Okay. I'll do it. I'll do my best."

"I know."

I could have meant nothing, but coming from this wolf, it made Stiles feel almost like preening.

*

The rest of the day passed at a crawl. If asked, Stiles wouldn't have been able to say how long he'd spend with his hands on Peter Hale's body. What he knew was that, by the end of it, his fingers ached so much that he was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to hold a pen for a few days. And that Peter's skin shone under the golden light of the setting sun.

He'd worked the oil carefully over the man's body. It'd been good stuff too, because despite the smallish size of the bottle, he'd managed to cover all the twisted, damaged skin with enough product to leave it shiny and slick.

Peter hadn't said a word at all. He'd barely moved, except for turning this way and that, so Stiles could reach all the places. He'd let Stiles rub the oil on the back of his neck. And on his legs. On his buttocks. He'd let the teenager rub some on his head, had let him give him a scalp massage too. Stiles had felt the scars hidden under his hair.

He refused to feel guilty for stopping the out of control Alpha with a cocktail Molotov.

He promised himself that he'd learn from a professional how to care for Peter's scars.


End file.
